


The Pokémon Master's Guide To Adulting

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, LET ME SAY THIS NOW: I HAVEN'T WATCHED PAST SINNOH, Slice of Life, Vignettes, established contestshipping and appealshipping but otherwise shipless, friendships, half of these characters r queer because its me writing it, write the fic u wanna see in the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "This might as well happen. Adult life is already so goddamn weird." - John MulaneyOnce childhood dreams become reality, your midlife crisis starts at eighteen: after all, what self-respecting champion's clued-up on taxes? Ash Ketchum and friends journey through minor existential crises, house-hunting and the eternal onslaught of brand-sponsorship pleas.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue (RotomPhone, Open Group Chat)

**Author's Note:**

> let it be known that ash avoided fame getting to his head bc he has a decent set of friends to humble (read: gently bully) him. they love him and are present when it counts. it all works out.
> 
> this is just a dumb lil prologue i posted bc no patience. promise there'll be an actual full chapter at some point where actual things happen

**Ketchum Krew [pikachu emoji] [100 emoji]**  
members: _[hat emoji], You, the brockchelor, etch-a-sketchit, asshole PhD, dawn (piplup's trainer), may (hoenn), several unknown numbers_

 _[hat emoji, 03:23]_ : do u think meowth from team rocket would type in an accent  
_[You, 03:24]_ : go to SLEEP wtf  
_[hat emoji, 03:24]_ : that wasnt a no. i think he can read  
_[hat emoji, 03:27]_ : anyway i could tell u the same thing. checkmate.  
_[hat emoji, 03:28]:_ why are u even awake  
_[You, 03:29]:_ long story short psyduck sleepwalked out of its pokeball and fell down the gym stairs again. im gonna install some baby gates or something  
_[hat emoji, 03:30]_ : [three laughing meowth emojis] h  
_[hat emoji, 03:30]_ : h was an accident. wow u and gary make fun of me but i dont have a pokemon that responds to Dumbass like its its actual name  
_[You, 03:31]_ ...points were ma--YOU ALSO RESPOND TO DUMBASS  
_[hat emoji, 03:32]_ : ITS THE A SOUND!!!!!! THE AH!!!! I KEEP THINKING UR ABOUT TO SAY MY NAME  
_[asshole PhD, 08:02]:_ THIS GUY WON THE POKÉMON LEAGUE [crying emoji] NAH I NEED A MINUTE  
_[dawn (piplup's trainer), 10:24]_ : Hahaha I'm sorry he does what???  
_[hat emoji, 15:49]_ : dawn please take my side on this. _@You @asshole PhD_ cranky because greninja kicked both ur asses arent u  
_[asshole PhD, 17:00_ ]: _@hat emoji_ h :)  
_[may (hoenn), 17:50]:_ Do we actually know if Meowth is literate?


	2. You're Not You When You're Hungry

**i.**

Is this thing on?  
(Misty clears her throat, deepening her voice in a poor mimicry of the anime narrator.) Adulthood had hit our heroes with all the grace and precision of a ten-tonne truck. The only one with any semblance of how it worked was Brock, who'd practically been in his twenties since he was five – even then, fresh out of med school, it was painfully obvious that Nurse Seduction wasn't covered in his degree. Seems you never stop wishing on stars for things to turn out fine. Blink and suddenly your sister's mid-way through bridal fittings, all the while you've been entertaining her vaporeon with a ball of pink yarn. Blink a little longer and you're accompanying your friends to an apartment viewing in Viridian, preparing for heartbreak when the estate agent announces its asking price. Our collectively-single asses are one degree of separation from Zoey and Dawn, photographed in the tabloids already moving in together. This is fine! Every aspect of it!! Nobody's panicking at all and the world is _not_ burning around us, still living at the Gym while Ash's other friends can afford to U-Haul and bake gourmet poffins on their joint coordinators' salary!!! Whew, okay... I'm gonna go cool off. The writer can take it from here.

Thanks, Misty. One bright side was that nobody lost touch with eachother, and typical rotom-phone conversations between her and Ash involved finding unflattering images of pokémon and going 'that's you!' (the most recent photographs being magikarp and morpeko). The other was that some things never change: like Pikachu sneaking ketchup bottles into the shopping cart, Brock's lifelong quest for love, and Ash Baby-face Ketchum getting mistaken for younger than he is (...old enough to drink in Galar—and Alola—not that it counts. What _isn't_ legal over there?) Ash became living proof that you could be a Kanto celebrity and PokéMart employees would still ask for ID. Professor Oak bought Ash a razor for his eighteenth, hardly thinking twice —  
"Hey!!" Within barely two seconds of unwrapping, the box was firmly out of the birthday boy's grasp, lifted over Ash's head from behind him. The professor and Delia exchanged glances, wondering what fresh hell was about to descend upon their outdoor gathering. Pikachu turned towards the offending subject, letting out a quizzical squeak.  
"Ashy-boy, I'm taking this off your hands," Gary had proclaimed. "'Ya snooze, ya lose' applies to everything in this life. Puberty included."  
_Five... four... three..._ Friends and relatives alike began a mental countdown.  
"Y'think I won't battle ya over it?" Ash leapt from his sitting position, immediately fumbling for a poké ball. The snack-table congregation doubled in size, all pretending they weren't already hooked. Trying to pretend, at least. _As far as parties go,_ noted the guests, _remind me never to skip out on a Ketchum invite._  
"Name one thing you need a razor for."  
Ash scrunched up his nose, desperately seeking an excuse: this was a fight he was already losing, but like hell he wasn't gonna try. "Uuuuhhhh... Snorlax's fur is getting overgrown. Couple inches longer and it won't be able to see."  
"Snorlax barely opens its eyes!" Misty burst out, stifling a giggle— "I mean, uh—it's Ash's birthday, Gary, dunk on him some other time."  
"In hindsight, Ash, I should have placed more thought into my gift." The elder Oak looked genuinely apologetic, offering a shrug and a sheepish half-smile. "Drop by the lab this week, and what I'll have then should make up for it."  
While even now, the champion wouldn't dare admit it, a shaving kit and a Gigantamax band may have been the easiest trade-off in his pokémon career. Besides, Snorlax was probably enjoying the home-grown blankets on its eyes.

* * *

**ii.**

He was her first friend. Ever. While she laughs at once mistaking the warmth in her chest for a crush (boys and girls could never just be close, right?), ten-year-old Misty had never comprehended the depth of emotions she could feel towards another human being. _I'm not lonely anymore_ , sang the swarms of butterfree in her chest, _somebody likes me. Somebody wants me around. For once in my life, I am_ seen. When a person had the gift of making you feel like that, parting would be the hardest thing you'd ever have to do. Ash gave his heart free reign and cast all rational thought aside, which at best resulted in indigestion and at worst risked his life – but he was full of dreams, and _kind_. Recklessly, unfailingly kind. To pokémon. To people. Even in a life where he wasn’t the chosen one, Misty was sure he’d have still resolved to help anyone who needed it. Sincerity wasn’t easy for her to handle: chalk it down to her sisters' upbringing or her zodiac chart, but when you've grown used to wielding intimidation and self-assurance like an automatic handgun, softness in front of others feels... humiliating, somehow. Like you've exposed a part of yourself that you weren't immediately sure how they'd react to, or whether they'd like it – compare being rejected for the person you present to them, against being rejected for who you really are. Much as she'd love to grab people by the face and tell them _"you are the best thing that's ever happened to me, I love you and every wonderful, terrible thing that comes out of your mouth; my life is full of joy and colour with you in it,"_ the contents of her heart loosely translated into affectionate insults, frequent check-ins and hanging on every second of her friends' televised battles.

The video-phone rang out thrice before her face appeared on-screen, instinctive greeting leaving her lips before she could register who was calling. "Cerulean Gym, this is Mis—"  
"—Misty, hi; so I pretty much realised this is it for me." Off Ash went on a fifty-mile-a-minute tangent. _I'm good today, Ash, how are you?_ Pikachu's eyelids drooped in resignation, silently pleading that the Gym Leader would work her magic. She'd help – really, she would – but considering how little sense her best friend was making, this was better off left to some kind of mind-reader. "Yeah, think about it, right, didn't I peak at ten years old? Travelled the world, won the Orange League, won Alola – even Kanto on my second try. Like even if I tried the others again... what's after that? Misty, I met a Pokémon god in the flesh... uh... skin... might not've even been skin, y'never know."  
Misty ran a hand through her loose red waves, facial expression caught between _'caterpie-on-my-arm'_ and _'pretending-to-understand-the-accent-of-a-tourist’s-request-for-directions'_. Willing her eyebrows to return to their natural habitat, she silently gathered what few thoughts sprung to mind. _The guy's crafted himself a duvet cocoon. Seems we're in deep, Pikachu._ "You're sick, right? Please say you're sick, 'cause now you're scaring me. That was a monologue. Ash Ketchum doesn't monologue."  
"Yes I do! I just started!! There's nothing wrong with me—" Ash's voice cracked in protest, and he put a palm to his forehead— "yeah, no, nothin'... wait, a monologue's what I think it is, right?"  
"Ssh, ssh, ssh..." Misty raised a hand to the screen, eyes narrowed. While she'd never seen him in quite this state (not since roughly the aftermath of losing the Indigo League, and that was circumstantial), the situation rang several bells. It wouldn't've happened in Brock's presence, this was definitely an Orange Island thing, and Delia would've went to work early today...  
"A-ha!" Her face lit up as she pointed frantically at the camera, final puzzle piece sliding into the jigsaw. If she'd caught him any later, he'd be at the stage of drinking soda from his mother's wine glass, and that would've been terminal. _Guess a best friend's duties are never done._ "I get the deal here. You were seconds away from going downstairs, got distracted by the League reruns on TV, convinced yourself breakfast already happened and now the world's collapsing around you."  
"Breakfast happened!"  
"Not to you, it didn't."  
"Did too! You think I'd be in crisis if I was just hungry? Tell her I ate, Pikachu." Ash raised his voice, indignant. Breakfast was serious business, and he never forgot about it. Except for when he did.  
His partner pokémon made a non-committal noise, wanting to be left out of this, although the tone gave away a little too much whose side it was on. "Pi- _kaaa_..."  
Pfft, she could so make a career out of this. _Misty Finn, psychic detective, part-time aquatic extraordinaire._ He might have the attention span of a charged-up yamper, but like her other friends, he wasn't going to starve on her watch. Gary and Tracey were always 'too busy' to cook for themselves, and after spending myriad hours as a kid trying to save Ash Ketchum from mortal peril, adulthood had translated the hobby into aggressive mom-friending. She placed a hand on her hip, recalling the stubborn scare-tactics she'd mastered in her youth. "Yeah, no, I'm calling bull. Sandwich, pronto, or I'm calling Delia."  
"Haven't ya heard snitches get thundershocks?" His shoulders slumped in a melodramatic sigh. Not that anyone had to threaten him to eat. "Ugh, _fine._ Between you and Burnet, it's like I ended up with three moms."  
Misty resisted the urge to bite back with _better than none_ , but that would've bordered on vulnerable, and, uh... gross. Not today. He complied, and something in her was soothed: call it assurance her childhood fire had never been truly extinguished.

In about ten minutes, he called her again, and the face projected back at her was more like the one she was accustomed to, eternal sparkle back in his brown eyes, his pokémon comfortable in his arms.  
"So hey," he said, breezy nonchalance returning to his tone, "turns out everything's great. How'd ya know I was hungry?"  
"Call it a hunch..." Misty grinned back at him, triumphant. _Three-time pokémon champion, ladies and gents._

* * *

**iii.**

_[beta oak, 10:21]: Not sure why anyone’s shocked he doesn’t age. Guy met Dialga, time ain’t gonna touch Ashy-boy for years.  
[You, 12:49]: since ur all up in my space i guess palkia didnt come thru >:(  
[doc brock, 12:50]: Play nice, kids.  
[torchic magnet, 12:50]: Wait no don’t_

In Ash’s defence, he would totally have been Brock’s roommate. With his friend’s hours as a doctor, the champion would finally have an opportunity to be truly self-sufficient, doing his own laundry and learning to cook for himself in the absence of a friend or parent. Maybe he’d master the art of self-discipline and learn not to blow his money on impulse-bought toys for his pokémon (in his defence, Incineroar totally needed that scratching post). Yet, with the years spent on the road competing in tournament after tournament, he’d have felt immeasurably guilty leaving his mother alone again. Sure, she and Mimey coped just fine in his absence – Delia was a grown adult and life went on without him – but last time mother and son had been this close, he’d been about nine years old. He pulls his weight around the house while he can, covering the utilities with his championship funds and vaccuming the pokémon fur out of the living-room carpet. At this stage, he’d even started doing his own ironing (though his habit of leaving it switched on and/or somehow burning his hand meant Delia would cast him aside and take over). Ash would give it a little while, at least; it was nice getting to see his mom smile again—

“Oh, _c’mon!!!_ You’re ten years old and mommy never taught y’ta cross a road?!” The taxi driver snapped Ash out of his back-seat daydream, rolling down a window to yell at a jaywalking trainer. Pikachu was strapped in beside him (safety first), hungrily anticipating being front-and-centre in a Saffron City pokéblock commercial. Champion title and regional fame, it seemed, were a package deal: with the new-found acknowledgement came about a billion-and-five companies wanting him or his teammates as the face. It was fun at first, but man, he didn’t sign up for this. When would he get to start battling again? He’d considered implementing a _‘no battle, no contract’_ clause – that was a thing you could do, right? – but paying the bills came first, and if Ash wanted to afford the life his family deserved, selling out was mandatory. On the bright side, it meant frequent encounters with awestruck young trainers, eyes and ambitions both as large and sparkly as his had once been. His tireless training had been others’ guiding light towards taking the Gym challenge themselves, so he’d at least put that into the world— hey, come to think of it, the taxi driver didn’t appear to recognise him at all.

“Never used t’be so many of ‘em,” the man grumbled, driving a sharp turn around the corner, “not when I was a kid. Now everywhere ya go, there’s trainers. Those… coordinators or whatever. Pokémon this, pokémon that, an’ these little runts go into it t’inkin’ they’re gonna be celebrities. They’ll go into their twenties with no skills and no way of talkin’ ‘emselves into a _real_ job. Just a sheddin’, fire-breathin’ pet to show for it, big whoop—oh, who taught _you_ to drive, your long-dead grandpops? Dickwit!”  
The irony managed not to get completely lost on Ash, who was getting tossed around in the back like a plastic bag in a hurricane. _Guy just goes from one rant to another… okay, Ketchum, you’ve dealt with folks like this before. Just smile and nod. It’s what Mom would do._  
“That ain’t even the worst of it.” The driver gritted his teeth in the mirror, reinvigorated on his rant to nobody in particular. Pikachu couldn’t understand the entirety of his words, though it feared a vein was about to pop in the man’s forehead. “Radio talks about all these jobs gettin’ lost to pokémon… buncha miners in the news gettin’ replaced with a bunch of — whatsit? — machamp. Give it some time and the frozen food aisle won’t be kept cold by machines anymore, it’ll be a load of ice-types paid in snacks and chew-toys. Another loss for the factories.” “Oh, machamp are actually super efficien— _whoa!_ ” Ash yelped, reaching beside him to hold his partner’s paw. “Uh, just stopping here’ll be fine. Thank you, sir.”  
“Not a problem. ‘Ey, ya little friend here’s actually pretty well-behaved… not like some o’ the little bastards I gotta deal with. Someone brought along a growlithe, callin’ it a damn service animal, and how does it service me but ruin my passenger-seat? It’s a fire-type! Fire is literally its thing!! Right, here we are...”  
The vehicle reversed, skidding to a halt – blissful, wonderful silence. Ash could’ve cried with joy, as he reached out to undo his pokemon’s seatbelt. Most of the time, he had no trouble drowning others out through his inner monologue: nothing prepared him for the cognitive whiplash of meeting folks this loud. Come to think of it, he wasn’t prepared for getting actual whiplash, and yet--  
“At your service, Mr. Ketchum!” Pikachu’s door was flung open – oh no – and the startled electric-type fired a reflexive full-power thunderbolt, frying passenger and driver alike.  
Ash groaned, just about managing to pull himself out by the elbows. Can’t beat a bit of pins and needles in your legs when it comes to being temporarily immobilised. “Guess I’ll make that sixty bucks?”  
“Seventy.”  
“Done.” He nodded, agreeing to just about anything at this point. Once his brain resumed normal service, he was struck once more by the familiar face of the driver. Facial recognition wasn’t his strong suit; he’d met hundreds, if not thousands, on his worldly adventures… “Didn’t think you knew my name, but we’ve met before, right?”  
The older man blanched, running a hand through his aqua-blue hair. Hats had never sounded like such a good idea. “Huh? No, no way. TV stations can’t get enough of ya, is all.”  
Too bad for him, Ash was determined to figure this one out, face-blindness be damned. “Wait, hang on, it begins with a ‘buh’. That much I know, uh… bear with me… B...lake? No? Brrriian? No, I’ve got this--”  
_C’mon, kid, you can do this. I didn’t get outta jail and flunk an anger management class to deal with your fuckery all over again._  
“Bart! Final guess; Bart!!” The champion brightened up, almost yelling the answer he was certain he’d cracked. More silence. “Huh, guess we really haven’t met. Anyway, thanks again!”

Once Pikachu had perched back on his shoulder, Ash was back on his merry way, already rehearsing the story he’d recount to his mom. He barely even registered the future hit-and-run perp zooming past him, spitting in Ash’s general vicinity and just about _screaming_ “IIIITTTT’S B--”  
_Wait!_ Ash paused and snapped his fingers in sudden remembrance. _It was definitely Brent._


	3. 1-0: Science One, Organs Nil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a gary-centric chapter!! updates are gonna be sporadic: i went into writing this without an ending in mind, so much as wanting to just... write things, i guess. i'm making this up as i go along.

**Ketchum Krew [pikachu emoji] [100 emoji]**

members: _Actual Pokémon Master?, You, Little Red, Human Restraining Order, Gramps’ #1 Fan, Dawn (Sinnoh), May (Hoenn), several unknown numbers_

 _[Actual Pokémon Master?, 01:59]_ : if i evolved from eevee id be champeon [sunglasses emoji]

 _[You, 12:31]:_ Sorry Ashyboy, Rotomdex says it’s spelt chumpeon

 _[You, 12:31]:_ [five basketball emojis]

 _[Little Red, 12:35]:_ dunk cancelled, we know damn well you highfived yourself after sending that

 _[You, 12:36]:_ Is that so, lesbeon?

_[Little Red removed you from the chat.]_

_[Actual Pokémon Master? added you to the chat.]_

_[Little Red, 12:40]:_ id be VAPOREON are you BROKEN

 _[You, 12:40]:_ Don’t blow your carrot-top, it’s barely even lunchtime

 _[Little Red, 12:42]:_ it’s been blown and it will STAY blown until you think before you speak

 _[Actual Pokémon Master?, 12:50]:_ misty 4 the 100th time *nobody* thinks b4 they say things

 _[Actual Pokémon Master?, 12:50]:_ stop tryna convince me they do

 _[You, 12:51]:_ Ash

 _[Gramps’ #1 Fan, 12:55]:_ Ash...

 _[Human Restraining Order, 19:11]_ : Ash.

 _[Actual Pokémon Master?, 23:37]:_ what.

i.

It's a reasonable assumption that Gary Oak would take adulthood in his stride.

Even if he _wasn't_ born into comfortable wealth and familial connections – or in a world where he _hadn't_ aced that Sinnoh internship with Professor Rowan, earning the occasional gruff words of praise that were as close to 'glowing recommendations' as he was capable of giving – Gary had the badge-flexing, pokéball-kissing, _infuriating_ self-assurance that could carry him wherever he wanted to go. (A recent debate had been Ash’s decision to call him ‘Professor Twig’, when the time came – “ _it was either that or Baby Oak?_ ” - and though Tracey had proposed the slightly-more-sensible ‘Professor Seedling’, it was the champion’s decided nickname that had stuck with the friend group.)

Your logic wouldn't be off (after all, once his grandfather retires, the grad student is heir to the Oak scientific dynasty): but somewhere among the thesis statements and published papers, the nineteen-year-old had sacrificed all ability to function as a human being. Hell, the guy didn’t even rest voluntarily. Exit WALKING, TALKING EMBODIMENT OF DARK EYE CIRCLES, stage left, pokémon dragging him out by the scruff of his lab-coat collar. The faithful teammates—not the myriad cans of pure-sugar energy drinks that kept him upright—were the key to his success: Umbreon taught itself Yawn through worry and willpower alone, routinely teaming up with Arcanine (the orange, bed-sized furnace of a beast) to ensure their trainer stayed asleep. Though waking up sent him into a blind panic, he never found the heart to blame them: instead, the baton of blame was passed onto Tracey.

“Mighty kind of you to wake me!” His waking words were predictable as a person could get, always a little sleep-slurred, always that panicked octave higher than his regular voice as he scrambled to check his files had saved. To the rest of the world, _Gary_ and _confidence_ tied together like a spoink and a bounce. Not that he didn’t believe his own hype, but… imagine taking over from one of the research world’s most celebrated figures, when even Kukui and Sycamore (youngest known professors) started at twenty-one. Was he excited? Did he love everything science gave the world, and believe himself genuinely good at his work? Absolutely. It was the _waiting_ – the weeks, months, years of paperwork and preparation and speculating what would come next – that made him feel a little like a froakie in a boiling pot.

“Didn’t need to.” Tracey barely looked up from his sketchbook, cross-legged on the adjacent windowsill. “If you didn’t need the rest, you wouldn’tve been out for so long – besides, you know your pokémon were just trying to help. S’why it’s always me you yell at.”

“Great, okay, so points were made. Score one for psychoanalysis. Where’s my--”

Again, predictable. “Notepad? Right in front of you.”

“Yeah, but where?” Gary fumbled and grabbed at anything on the desk he could reach, until the notes miraculously spawned in his grip _—_ “ _—_ oh. Neat, thanks.”

“I fed the tauros and typed them all up, so uh… just gotta proofread it and you’re pretty much done.” The assistant cautiously raised his head, aware he was being stared at. He tacked on a quiet excuse, just to be safe: “Slow work day.”

A knot of worry settled in Tracey’s gut, having never seen the researcher this thrown for words – shit, wait, had he overstepped? All he’d expected was a quick ‘thanks’ and everyone would move on with their day. Ever the perfectionist, Gary had assigned his personal deadline two weeks before the official submission date, eager to hit the ground running in his scientific debut. Tracey hadn’t added anything unnecessary, it was just a case of typing it all up verbatim and fixing the drowsiness-induced typos Gary likely didn’t even know existed, but _—_

“Wow. Okay, uh… look, you didn’t have to do this.” Finally, he spoke, and much to Tracey’s relief there was some semblance of a smile. Gary was still pretty much frozen where he stood, caught way off-guard by the instinctive kind gesture (this opened up weeks of unfamiliar free time, after all – what would he even do outside the lab?). Thankfully for them both, it didn’t last, and the professor-in-training returned to the grins and the back-and-forths everyone was used to. “If you were worried about keeping your job when I took over, you coulda just asked. Answer depends on whether your weird crush on my gramps is a generational thing, ‘cause if it gets passed down _—_ ”

“I _—_ I like _—_ science!” The words stumbled out louder than Tracey intended them to. _Please don’t say my ears have gone pink. Please don’t say my face has gone pink. Easy, Sketchit; quick glance at the windowsill – damn it._

“Easy, kid, I was gonna say I wouldn’t complain.” Gary held his hands up in mock surrender. “Way to make yourself obvious, though. No, but uh, really: thanks, man.”

Fine. Gary admitted defeat to Arceus and the forces of the universe: burnout’s a bitch, and burned out is what he was. He could put his whole soul and energy into work but if he wasn’t healthy or lucid enough to create something brilliant, it may as well have been half-assed the whole time. _A break, huh?_ He supposed it’d make a change. In all truth, he wasn’t sure who he was outside of his work, but this could be a much-delayed opportunity to find out.

* * *

_ii._

At some point in January, Cerulean City became home to Kanto’s newest tourist trap: the totally-not-ripped-off (wait for it!) _Café Meowth_ . In the veins of Hoenn’s _Skitty Café_ business chain, neighbouring regions were desperate to share the wealth… and though it _was_ an espresso-shot of serenity _–_ domestic meowth, daytime sleepers, curling up in your lap and soaking up the ear-tickles – anyone who’d been in Ash Ketchum’s orbit came to the same emotional conclusion. _Seeing these pokémon on four legs was weird. Hearing their collective one-word vocabulary? Fucking surreal_ . It seemed Ash and co. were immune to lunch-dates at Café Meowth, knowing not a single “ _twoip_ ” would be uttered that day.

Gary eyed the solitary, hyperactive meowth in the corner, Pay Day coins sent flying across the floor in a pokénip-induced fervor ( _mooom, we’re gonna need a vacuum_ ). This would be his first and last visit.

“So I try the whole ‘ _I’m not going if you’re not going; it’d be no fun without you,_ ’ and he still wouldn’t go with. Either super busy or really wants the one-on-one time with Gramps: I’m tellin’ you, this kid is shameless.” He paused his recount of yesterday, taking a large sip from his coffee mug.

“This ‘kid’ is the same age as Brock.”

Based on the coughing fit this sent the researcher into, Misty’s announcement was… less than conveniently timed. “Don’t joke about that shit when I’m drinking,” he croaked, tears at the corners of his eyes, desperately trying not to cause a scene.

“I’m being serious! Still, nice of you to invite him, right?” she stroked the back of the meowth curling around her chair leg. _Yep, still weird._ “Tracey’s a sweetheart, but as much as I love him… it’s his loss. Like, c’mon, who turns down Kalos?! It’s the dreamiest place on earth! The castles, the rivers… Azure Bay…”

“Have you ever even been?” He was torn between laughing and being genuinely endeared, the redhead’s eyes having absorbed the same dreamy, faraway quality that appeared when she remembered the Whirl Islands.

“No, not yet, but my sisters took a bunch of photos.”

“Weird, I could’ve sworn there were four of you in the family.” he joked, regretting it when she visibly tensed up. _Okay, sore spot. Noted._

“Lily’s honeymoon’s in Lumiose,” she carried on as if nothing had been said. “A whole month? Can you believe she can afford that?! Remind me to elope with a Pokémon Base player.”

“Sure,” he said, and without missing a beat, “what are you doing this week?”

“Probably the usual, back on the gym ba _—waaaaait,_ wait, wait, wait, wait, _what_?”

“You, me, two weeks in Kalos. I have no clue where the best places are, and it’s not like anyone else I know loves it that much.” He’d kill to get a photo of her face right now, grinning lips half-agape, head tilted to one side like a hoothoot in the wild.

If time hadn’t kicked most of the assholery out of him, there’s zero chance they’d be chatting at a coffee house, but other than Ash and his colleagues, Cerulean Gym’s leader was the only person he got to speak to on a regular basis. How it started was a mystery – it could have been her fawning over Blastoise, hanging in the same crowds at Ash’s gatherings, finishing eachother’s quick remarks and having the local champion regret the day they were ever introduced. Don’t get Gary wrong, he still retained some degree of Smug Bastard, but they were more in the vein of relentless ‘ _your mom_ ’ jokes he wouldn’t dare to repeat in Delia’s vicinity. (Misty would never not find this hilarious: “ _Lovely to see you, Ms. Ketchum. How are you, Ms. Ketchum? May I help you out in the kitchen, Ms. Ketchum?”_ )

“And you’re… not kidding? I couldn’t take it if you were kidding. I’d probably sneak into your suitcase and stay there.”

“Which’d be a great time if it didn’t involve the cops. Take the ticket, carrot-top, before I bring Ash along instead.”

“ _He already went!!_ ” Misty just about stopped herself from yelling, but the meowth still fled to another table, startled by the volume. “Wait, no, come back… alright, no take-backs. I’m coming with. Drinks are on me, but fair warning: two Flaming Flareons down and I’m a certified _mess._ ”

“Oh, so like… your usual sel—hey, hey, take a joke!!” Gary laughed, shielding his face from the napkins she threw in his face (first thing she could find… pretty tame). “What’s actually _in_ a Flaming Flareon?”


End file.
